I guess we won't swap those barbershop harmonies no more You can't sing 'em with three, you gotta have four And ain't it a crime, a real crying shame Screwed up and all wet We used to be thick How quick they forget Here's how it becomes a guitar, bass and drums, without a horn That saxophone leaves, and a trio is born Not much does it take to go out 'n' break A nice matching set Not much of a trick How quick they forget Like three blind mice Or three on a matchstick Three makes only three Him plus him plus me Makes us . . . whoopee!